Love and War
by Tuttle4077
Summary: Two people reflect on love as they make life-changing decisions.
1. Stormy Night

Great drops of rain splattered on the chapel steps. Storm clouds thundered in the sky, throwing down flashes of lightning. It was a miserable night, and it matched her mood perfectly.

Perhaps she should wait. Wait for a clear, warm night. A safe night.

No.

She had waited too long as it was.

A quiet mewling brought her attention to the bundle in her arms, and she held it closer to her, rocking it gently. Wrapped in a soft blue blanket, the baby wriggled its arm lose and reached up to caress her cheek. She flinched and pulled away, but then found herself pulled back into the touch, nuzzling against it as her eyes closed and her heart fluttered.

No.

She quickly grabbed the tiny hand and tucked it back into the blanket. She couldn't afford to let her heart go to this little creature. Not now. She had been too careless with her love already.

She had been stupid, too caught up in the heat of passion and the thrill of living each moment to the fullest. Too caught up in the desperate thought that her life could end at any moment. Being a spy was dangerous after all, and happiness came but rarely. True love was hard to find, although there were certainly many feelings that tried to imitate it.

She wondered if it had been love that had drawn her to him. Or was it merely her admiration of him, of his bravery and cunning? When this wretched war ended, would she find that it was simply proximity and danger that had brought them into each other's arms? When they no longer had a common cause, a common enemy, would they find that there was nothing to their passion? What was love when it was forged in war? Was it real, or simply a forgery?

Her heart told her that she loved him. It was so thoroughly convinced that she knew she would die for him.

And she would give up this child to continue to fight alongside him.

She remembered when she discovered her pregnancy. It had startled and alarmed her. War was no place for a child, and a spy was a poor choice for a mother. The sensible thing to do would be to end the pregnancy before things got complicated. She would not have been the first woman, especially in the Underground, that had taken such desperate measures. Surely God would forgive such things in a time of war.

Perhaps it was an indication of her love for him, but whatever the reason, she couldn't go through with it. And so, even though it made her work infinitely more dangerous, she had carried the child within her. She hid it as long as she could from the others in her organization until it had become too obvious for them to ignore, no matter how much they wished they could. But they promised to keep it a secret from him. He didn't need the distraction.

Then, in a dimly lit basement somewhere in Paris, while hiding from the Gestapo- they were always hiding from the Gestapo- she had given birth. She remembered the fear, the pain, the relief, and the joy when it was over. She remembered feeling her heart burst when the baby was laid on her chest, and she knew she had found true love at last. All other loves, real or imagined, paled in comparison.

But it was a love that couldn't be. Not yet. Not now.

A helpless baby was a liability. If the Gestapo ever found out-

No.

She would not let that happen. Even if she walked away from the Underground right this minute, they would always be looking for her. A baby, especially _his_ baby, could be used against her. Against him. More than once he had risked his life and organization for her. What lengths would he go to protect his child? Their child?

She couldn't let that happen. Love had convinced her to bring the child into the world, but not even true love was enough to make her keep it. The safest thing for her, for him, for the baby, was to let it go. And, perhaps, realizing that was a testament of her love.

And so here she stood, on the steps of a quiet chapel in the pouring rain, the love of her life wrapped in her arms. She had done her research, used her contacts to find the best place for it. She couldn't leave it with anyone she knew personally- too dangerous. It was best to just leave the baby anonymously at the door of this little chapel, whose clergy and parishioners were known for taking in orphans and strays. She had heard the children taken in were well cared for- as well as any child of war could hope anyway.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and set the precious little baby on the doorstep, out of the rain. She knelt down and stroked its soft cheek. The little hand freed itself again and caught hold of her finger. The little devil- already mischievous- she thought as she tucked the hand back in under the blankets. She picked the baby back up again and held it closely, resting her cheek against its forehead. Then, she allowed herself a little kiss before setting the baby down again. She adjusted the blanket, nearly pricking herself on the pin that secured a piece of paper to it. Scrawled on the paper were a name and a birth date.

Had it only been a few weeks? It was too soon. The baby was too young. Too little. It needed her.

No.

She needed to do this. Now.

She rang the bell and turned to run. Her feet splashed in the rain as she ran and hid herself behind the corner of the building across the street. She waited with bated breath until, finally, the door creaked open. A little woman looked around then found the baby at her feet. Without another glance- she obviously did not expect nor want to see who had left the package- she scooped the baby up and closed the door.

She fell back against the wall and slid to the ground. Her hand went to her chest, as if she could somehow hold her heart together. One day, perhaps, she would come back. Find her baby. But even if she did, she knew her arms would ache forever, pained by the emptiness that would increase every day they were apart. There would always be a hole in her heart, condemning her for letting a piece of it go so freely. Despite the emptiness that hollowed out her broken heart, there was a weight in her chest that threatened to press her into the earth.

But it couldn't be helped. She would just have to press on. She had a job to do, a cause to fight, and a war to win.

And so, Tiger picked herself up and disappeared into the night.


	2. Sunny Day

**August 1949**

The sun was shining and somewhere a bird was singing. Fluffy white clouds glided through the blue sky, slipping past the rooftops of the quaint little French town without a care in the world.

He envied them.

Colonel Robert Hogan felt a weight on his shoulders that would make Atlas shudder.

Standing on the steps of a little building, he jammed his hands into his pockets, not sure whether he should knock on the door or not. He didn't want this. He wasn't ready for this. Was he?

No.

His life was too busy. He was trying to rebuild a country. Trying to ward off yet another war- a cold war that threatened to heat up all over the world. A child was the last thing he needed.

But it wasn't just any child, was it? It was _her_ child.

His mind travelled back to the end of the war. It had been so chaotic. And he had been too concerned with surviving, with making sure his men survived, that he hadn't even thought of the Underground or their safety. Too busy trying to evade the Gestapo who were hell bent on catching him and his men. Too busy fighting his way through a war zone, too busy trying to get home. The last months of the war were nothing more than a blur in his memory. He barely remembered how he had made it through alive.

He had stumbled upon Dubois almost by accident. The man had survived the war, beyond all odds. The life of a spy after all, was hazardously short. Unlike Hogan, Dubois was intimately connected with the Parisian Underground and shared his knowledge with Hogan.

He remembered when he heard. Remembered it like a punch in the stomach. The anger, the pain, the sadness, the loss.

The end of the war was in sight, close enough to touch, when she had died. Died, he had been told, protecting him and his operation. He hadn't known. Hadn't been told. And it occurred to him in that moment that his operation was much bigger than what happened within the tunnels under Stalag 13. There had been an army of nameless, faceless spies, agents, and soldiers protecting Papa Bear. He wondered how many others had died without his knowledge. How many unsung heroes were there?

But there was more, Dubois had told him.

A child.

She had had a child. Sometime near the end.

He remembered feeling- what had he felt? Stunned? Yes. Angry? Possibly. Hurt? Yes. Had she seen him after giving birth? While pregnant? She must have. And she hadn't told him. Maybe she didn't feel the need.

He had asked, not sure he wanted the answer, who the father was. He wasn't naïve- the life of a spy was full of many perils. One found love when one could. Happiness was fleeting and every moment could be the last. And at times, it was even necessary to sacrifice one's integrity, one's dignity to stay alive or receive information. Tiger had been cunning, brave, and dedicated- surely he had not been the only man to hold her in his arms. There had probably been plenty, good and bad, who had either loved her or used her. Or both.

Dubois had shaken his head and answered his question with one of his own. "Does it matter?" he had asked. "She only had one love."

Him. She had loved him.

The revelation shook him. Shamed him.

She had loved him. She had _died_ for him.

Perhaps he had loved her too. He had certainly been willing to sacrifice his life, his operation, even his men for her. It was she who occupied his dreams at night while curled up in his bed at Stalag 13. But when the war was over, those dreams of her had faded, and he had to wonder if the love he had felt for her was a result of proximity, of the constant danger, of the need to feel connected and loved when nothing else was certain.

Perhaps if she had lived to the end of the war, her passion would have also faded. But there was no way to know now.

He had left the meeting with Dubois confused, unsure of what to do. She had loved him, but did that mean he was responsible for her child?

It took a long time, too long, for him to start the search. All he had was a name and a birth date. He had been told where she had left the baby, but the church was long gone- nothing more than a pile of rubble in a broken and damaged city. Perhaps the child was no longer even alive. Perhaps the war had claimed another life connected to his own without his knowledge.

He continued his search off and on throughout the years, sometimes half-heartedly, still unsure if he really wanted to find the child or not. Eventually it had led him here, and all his doubts, new and old resurfaced.

The door in front of him opened. He had sent word he would be coming. Had explained the situation. Perhaps someone had seen him walk up the steps and stop. Had watched him debate with himself and had decided to make a decision for him.

An old woman stepped out, ushering a child ahead of her.

Hogan's heart leapt into his throat. It was like looking in a mirror. Dark black hair framed a slender face, and though the child was playing shy, he saw a mischievous glint in dark eyes that reminded him very much of his own.

His decision was made. He should have made it a long time ago, and he was ashamed that he had only made it now.

Hogan wasn't sure he knew what true love was, but as he stepped forward, he knew he was going to find out.


End file.
